Something There
by Bukkunkun
Summary: Alfred is an American spy hiding out in Nazi-occupied France, and when he gets shot at and wounded after getting sold out, he finds himself crashing into the barn of a beautiful young… lady? Written for Day 6 of the USUK Summer Camp 2012. USUK, Historical!AU.


I actually had loads of fun writing this! Even if I did this in under 5 hours. XD

* * *

"Shit!" Alfred swore as he felt the cart he was hiding in jolt violently, the Frenchman hiding him there swearing as well. He looked up, scrabbling to grasp his gun and ignoring the burning pain in his leg, to see the Frenchman had turned to look at him.

"You must go," he whispered to Alfred urgently in his accented voice. "I cannot bring you with me any further, for there are checkpoints just past the next hill."

Alfred grit his teeth, but he nodded anyway, gathering himself together and getting up. "Thank you, so, so much, Francis." He said, and the blonde nodded. "You have done the Resistance well."

A wry smile spread across Francis' face and he nodded. "It is but an honour. Now go, before they see you."

Alfred nodded, and Francis slowed down the cart enough just so that Alfred could jump off without getting too hurt. Wincing as pressure returned to his leg, Alfred began to limp-run into the trees, not caring where he was going.

* * *

"_Álice, Álice_!" the voice of a young milkmaid rang clearly from the barn, a little girl with her hair tied in twin low ponytails walked out, holding up in her small hands a bucketful of milk. "_Il ya des gens à venir!_"

"_Oui_!" the Alto voice of an older young woman called as she walked out of the stables, pushing her sleeves up to her elbows as she lifted her dress's skirt to help her walk. "_Marie, brosser les chevaux!_"

"_Oui!_" the little girl put the bucket of milk down on the porch of their home, before running into the stables where her guardian had been, as the elder woman went into their home to fix herself up. As soon as she shut the door behind her, she pulled off her long blonde hair—a wig—and scowled.

"Bloody Nazis think they can rat me out here? Not a chance," he murmured, annoyed as he reached for the pistol he kept hidden in the shoe cupboard and pulled up his skirt to attach it to the holster he had there.

Sgt. Arthur Kirkland of the Royal Navy was _not_ about to let someone so much as _touch_ little Marie Bonnefoy-Williams, the daughter of one of the generals of the French Resistance, one of his closest friends.

"Arthur," Marie's little voice floated in from outside. "I've readied the guns inside the stable. The soldier's coming closer."

"I'll take care of this," Arthur whispered to her, stroking her hair softly. "Stay inside." He said to her and she nodded, entering the house without a moment's hesitation. Scowling, Arthur put his wig back on, fixed himself in the mirror, and walked outside to meet with the soldier—but not without picking up a few pieces of laundry first.

"_Bon après-midi_," _Álice_ greeted, bowing her head demurely, a lock of hair falling past her shoulder. "_Y at-il quelque chose que je peut faire pour vous_?"

Arthur spared the man a glance—he looked rugged, like he had been dragged through hell and back, his clothes singed in places here and there, and his leg was tied with a makeshift bandage that looked like it was just a torn shirt. He looked at the man's face—he was dirty, tired, and _unbearably handsome_, with his striking blue eyes and messy golden blonde hair.

Then and there, Arthur resisted the urge to shake his head to clear his thoughts—where the _hell_ did _that_ thought come from, he was gawking at an injured man, for crying out loud!

"Uh, do you speak English?" the man asked, and Arthur's eyes widened. The man was an American. No wonder he looked so different.

Immediately, Arthur looked around, checking to see if there was anyone—any _Nazi_—around to watching them, and when he found none, Arthur leant forward. "_Come with me. I'll take you somewhere safe_." He whispered to the man, and he nodded. Arthur went up to the man's side and helped him support his weight shouldering the weight that was pressing onto the man's injured leg.

"_Thanks_." The man murmured to him, and Arthur felt his cheeks redden.

He silently felt mortified with himself as he helped the man into his home he shared with Marie, the little girl watching them from the doorway to the kitchen as Arthur moved the man to the armchair by the unlit chimney, helping him settle down.

"Ah, shit." The man swore, and Arthur glared at him.

"There is a _child_ in the room. I'd like to ask you to keep quiet, please."

"O-oh, sorry," the man turned his head to look at little Marie looking out at him curiously from the kitchen doorway. "Hello there," he smiled, winking at her, and she blushed, before hiding behind the door. He chuckled, and the sight made Arthur smile gently. He caught himself smiling before the man could see him smiling, and put on a neutral expression when the man turned to address him.

"I have a medical kit upstairs. I'll help you out with that," he told the man, gesturing at his wound. "You'll need to take your trousers off, I'm afraid. Are you alright with that?"

"Sure thing." The man nodded, grinning. "The question is, little lady, are _you_?"

Arthur felt a wild red blush of embarrassment burn across his face, and he spluttered, "_Pardon_ me?" he cried, his voice going much higher than it usually did. The man laughed a bright tinkling sound that was like music to Arthur's ears, and grinned at him fondly.

"You're about to witness my amazing assets," the man grinned. "You up for that, missy?"

Impossibly, Arthur's blush intensified, and pressed his hands onto the man's injured leg.

"Holy sh—sheep in the field!" the man almost swore, but he seemed to have remembered Arthur's words about little Marie. "Christ, are you crazy, lady?"

"That is what you get for being so _rude_," Arthur huffed, before rushing upstairs to retrieve the medical kit. He spared a glance at himself in the mirror and gaped—his usually pale cheeks were bright red.

He spent a few minutes trying to calm himself down, and when the colour in his cheeks had subsided somewhat, Arthur returned to the lower floor, where he saw the man talking to Marie.

"Marie!" he gasped, "_Venez à l'écart de cet homme_!"

The little girl pulled away from the man like she had been burnt, and the man frowned at him.

"Oh, come on. I was just giving her this." He held up a small stick of gum. "Don't get them much around these parts, right?"

"… Well." Arthur fell silent, defeated, and he gestured uselessly with his hands for the man to carry on. The man beamed, positively brightly, and handed Marie the stick of gum, who stared at it in wonder, before running away into her room, suddenly far too shy to even face the American. Chuckling, he turned his attention back to Arthur, who was now approaching him, holding the medical kit in his hands.

"So, you're a Brit, huh." He said, and Arthur's eyes widened, looking down at the man in alarm. "Your English accent gave it all away. Gotta say, though, your French could have fooled me otherwise."

"I'm not overly fond of the language," Arthur shrugged, walking into the kitchen to fill a bowl with water and pick up a few washcloths. "Your trousers, please."

The man set to work on his belt as Arthur returned, and managed to wrestle himself out of his trousers, with a little bit of help from Arthur. The Brit's eyes widened upon seeing the man's toned legs, however, lean muscles slightly bulging, giving him a glimpse of the power that the man could display.

Arthur mentally groaned. Why was this man so stupidly attractive?

The man was grinning, and damn him, that look was good on him.

"Like what you see, missy? Although, a proper little lady like yourself might be a little overwhelmed by how awesomely attractive I am."

Alright, Arthur lied. This man was _far_ from attractive.

"I beg to differ," Arthur scoffed, inspecting the gunshot wound, before taking out a pair of forceps from the medical kit. "This is going to hurt."

"Lay it on me," the man grinned, and Arthur began to gently pull the bullet out. He winced, tensing slightly, but no sound escaped his lips as Arthur slowly pulled the metal out of his body. When it was out, Arthur dropped it to the floor and the two of them let out breaths that neither of them noticed they were holding. "See? All a-okay."

Arthur rolled his eyes and dipped a washcloth into the bowl of water, wringing it out, before gently cleaning the man's wound.

"Say, I don't think you ever told me what your name was."

Arthur hesitated for a moment. No, the man didn't need to know about who he really was, even though they were on the same side.

"Alice. Alice Kirkland."

The man grinned, and Arthur felt a chill go down his spine. "I'm Alfred. Lieutenant Alfred Jones, Secret Service." The man winked. "So, uh, you with the Resistance?"

"Yes." Arthur nodded, rinsing the washcloth and returning to cleaning the wound gently to distract himself from Alfred's rather charming grin. "I'm here to protect someone."

"Would that be little Marie?" Alfred asked, and Arthur looked up at him, surprised. "Hey, she told me her father's name was Francis. He helped me escape from Paris."

"Oh, Francis." Arthur sighed. "Where is he now? Did he tell you when he'd go see Marie?"

"Well, we were separated just a few miles away when we neared a checkpoint. We didn't really have a chance to talk properly." Alfred looked apologetic, and Arthur sighed.

"Oh, well. Marie misses her father very much. Her mother, Jeanne, as well." Alfred had a strange look on his face—was that relief? No, it couldn't have been—but Arthur let it be. "Well, I'm going to need your leg raised. If you please…?"

"Don't mind if I do," Alfred chuckled, lifting his leg as Arthur wrapped bandages around his thigh. After securing it, he patted it gently, and Alfred smiled up at him. "Thanks a lot, pretty nurse." He winked, and Arthur felt his face warm up again.

"Wh-whatever," he stuttered, turning to face away from Alfred. "You're going to have to stay here for the time being until your leg heals. When it does, I'll have someone help you escape to England."

"Want to come with me?" Alfred asked, and Arthur looked at him, his blush intensifying. "'Cause, don't you miss home?" he asked, and Arthur looked down at his hands holding the medical kit.

"Oh, if you only knew," Arthur sighed. "I wish every day this war would end already, so that I can go home to my brothers and fix things together again."

"Oh, did something happen before the war began?" Alfred asked, and Arthur gently shook his head.

"Way before the war began, I'm afraid. Only now did we realise how much we care for each other, but at any moment we might lose one of us. I can't bear thinking what I would do if that ever happened."

Alfred nodded gravely. "I know that feeling. Didn't exactly leave on good terms with my Pop." Arthur looked at him, and he shook his head. "Ah, shucks. Let's stop with the sad stuff, alright?" slowly, Arthur nodded. "And let's think of some cover story for me for the time being, 'kay?"

* * *

_Álice_ ended up being _Fritz_'s wife.

Well, in Alfred's words, it was more of, "Fritz's absolutely smitten and crazy-mad-for-him wife who doted on him day and night and showered him with love and affection. Oh, and they kiss a lot."

Arthur didn't know whether he _hated _it or he absolutely _loved_ it.

* * *

"_Álice_, _mon amour, donne-moi un peu de lait?_" Alfred sweetly asked one time, loudly enough to be heard by a passing cart full of giggling young ladies. Arthur glared at him, but reluctantly handed him a glass of the offending drink, mumbling, "_Bien sûr, mon amour_."

Small things like this kept on going, Alfred and Arthur exchanging terms of endearment as Alfred drove Arthur _wild_ with his easygoing attitude and coarse movements—he sat at the table with his feet on it, leaning back on the chair fully as he gestured at his mouth for Arthur to spoon-feed him, cooing at him in French as he did so.

Oh, how Arthur _regretted_ teaching the bloody bastard how to speak the damned language.

Fuck his fast-learning language skills, too. Arthur spent far too long studying French, and it only took the American two weeks to speak it fairly freely.

Marie, dear sweet Marie, loved Alfred's presence, though. He made her laugh and cared for her dearly like her father did, and vaguely, Arthur wondered if this is what it was like to have a family. A warm feeling tickled Arthur's heart whenever he saw Marie and Alfred together, laughing in the warm French countryside sunlight, running through bright yellow wheat fields hand in hand.

He understood how Francis felt. It was wonderful—well, sans the housewife part.

One day, however, Alfred grew bold.

"_Álice_, _donnez-moi un baiser._" He said, and Arthur gaped at him. He merely grinned. "_Vas-y! Ne me faites pas attendre!_" he pointed at his lips, grinning, and blushing madly, Arthur leaned in to give him a kiss.

It felt _wonderful_, but Arthur would die first before he'd tell Alfred something like that.

Months passed and soon Alfred's leg had completely healed. By that time, Arthur had grown used to the man's presence in his life (he had finally managed to force the man into helping out with the chores) and their kisses had grown to an almost comfortable routine.

"_Álice,_" Alfred spoke up, and without even prompting, Arthur leaned up to give the man a kiss. The smile he got for that was so heart warming; Arthur felt butterflies flitting around in his stomach every time he saw it.

They lived in bliss together in the relatively safe countryside of occupied France, until suddenly, one evening, soldiers came knocking on their door.

"_Álice, aller prendre Marie au lit._" Alfred said, as men filed into their little home. Hurriedly, Arthur did as he was told, hiding the little girl in her room—after passing his room, and then Alfred's room (well, of _course_ they slept in separate rooms, they were only pretend lovers… something Arthur couldn't truly convince himself fully of)—and tucking her safely away, before taking out a few guns and hiding them under his skirt in holsters bound to his thighs. When he came back downstairs, he saw Alfred serving two soldiers glasses of water, before silently sitting down at the head of the table.

Arthur walked up to his side, and like they had always been doing it, slid his hand over the man's shoulder and gently held it. Had Alfred not been in such a delicate situation, he would have laughed and maybe teased Arthur about it, but not now. Not here.

"_Bonjour, les hommes bons. Qu'est-ce qui vous amène chez moi?_" Alfred asked, his French now perfected in the months he had spent with Arthur and Marie. "_J'espère que je peux être à votre service_."

"_Oui_." One of the soldiers said, before pulling out a gun, alarming both Arthur and Alfred. The other one suddenly stood up and grabbed Arthur's wrists, yanking him away from Alfred, making him cry out in both alarm and pain as he was slammed against the wall of the dining hall, before being pulled tightly against the other shoulder's torso, the man's arm around under his chin, steadily applying pressure to his neck. Alarmed, Alfred stood up, drawing his own gun and pointing it at the soldier pointing a gun at him, when the other one pointed his gun at Arthur's temple instead. Alfred's eyes widened and he hesitated. The soldier smirked.

"You are Alfred Jones, am I correct?" he asked, his English thick with his German accent. "We have been looking for you, for a very, _very_ long time."

"What do you want?" Alfred demanded, holding his stance, still determinedly pointing his gun at the man.

"It has come to our attention that you have certain classified information on your person. I would like to have them back." The man said, his tone level, but saturated with the promise of violence if he didn't have his way.

"I burned them," Alfred smirked, gesturing at his head with his left hand. "It's all in here, and you ain't going to get them."

The man's face tightened, and he brought his gun closer to Alfred's forehead.

"Then you shall recover them for me." he slammed down a pile of blank papers onto the table, before pulling a pen out of his coat pocket.

"Or else what? I'm armed too, you know."

The man smirked, before lowering his gun. Alfred eyed him warily, as he began to walk slowly towards Arthur. The ball dropped and Alfred realised what the man was about to do.

"H-hey, wait—" he began, lowering his gun.

"Your _wife_ is very beautiful," the man commented, walking up to Arthur, giving him an appraising look up and down. "Yes, very beautiful." He approached Arthur, standing tall next to the soldier holding him still, before running two fingers down his cheek. The blonde bristled, and the soldier's grin widened. "Alfred Jones, is she _really_ your wife? Perhaps, your young lover?" he asked, twirling his fingers in Arthur's blonde wig. "She looks so very pure. Still untouched."

Without warning, he ran his palm up the front of Arthur's thigh, from his knee to the crevice of his groin, completely missing the weapons concealed underneath, but barely brushing Arthur's crotch. Arthur let out a yelp of discomfort and the man chuckled darkly.

"How would you like it if _we_ took her instead, while you watch?" he asked, "And then maybe we'll kill her, right in front of you." The man paused, "Ah, and then there is the little girl."

Alfred growled at him, and he laughed, a dark chilling laugh.

"Yes, that would be spectacular. _Ai-je raison, ma chère_?" he asked Arthur, taking the blonde's chin between his index finger and thumb. "_Quel est votre nom, belle_?"

Arthur shot Alfred a worried glance, and the American could only look on helplessly.

"_Répondez-moi_." The man demanded, and Arthur whimpered slightly for show.

"_A- Álice, monsieur._" He replied, averting his eyes from the man.

"_Álice._" The man repeated, like he tasted the name on his tongue. "_Je l'aime_."

"_M-monsieur, s'il vous plaît._" Arthur spoke up in a pleading tone. "_Ne pas lui faire de mal, s'il vous plaît_."

"_Oh?_" the man smirked. "_Me convaincre de ne pas_." His soldier let go of Arthur, and at once, Alfred understood what Arthur was trying to do.

Averting his eyes (all for show, as he winked secretly at Alfred, while the two men surrounding Arthur were far too transfixed on what his hands were going to do) he lowered his hands and ran them up his legs, before bending down slightly to ruck up his skirt by putting his hands on his legs under them, before sliding slowly up, up his stockings—

His hands curled around the handles of his hidden guns.

"Alfred, now!" he yelled, pulling the both of them out. Alfred immediately sprang into action, shooting the man standing in front of Arthur, as Arthur turned around to dispose of the man behind him. Outside, the din of the alarmed soldiers told them they were coming, and the two of them ducked behind the backrest of the sofa that was facing the front door. The back-up of the two officers arrived—there were only five of them, a handful, and Alfred and Arthur shared looks, before standing up from where they were hiding, revealing themselves, before taking them all out before they could even react.

"Go grab Marie!" Alfred ordered. "Let's get out of here!"

Arthur nodded, running up the stairs as Alfred ran outside.

"Marie, Marie!" he called, and the little girl ran out of her room, dragging after her three bags of clothes and belongings—one for her, one for Arthur, and the other one for Alfred. "Let's go!" he said, tucking his guns back in his holsters and helping the little girl carry the bags downstairs. Silently, he was thankful for telling her to get ready to run away.

"Come on, come on!" Alfred's voice called them from outside. "In the car!"

Arthur's eyes widened to find outside, Alfred had started up the car the soldiers had brought with them. Hurriedly, he and Marie packed the bags in the trunk, before getting into the car.

"Arthur!" Marie let out a little squeal before she settled in her seat at the back, and alarmed, Arthur looked back to see several guns, rifles and ammunition packed into the backseat next to her.

"Alfred," he gasped, and the man stepped on the gas, driving quickly away. "What on Earth are you thinking, putting all my guns in the car?"

"Better to be safe than sorry," Alfred simply said, and Arthur fell silent. He couldn't argue with that.

* * *

They drove on in silence, passing by hills and silent farms as they shot through the night. Eventually Marie had fallen asleep in her seat behind them, her head rested against Alfred's coat that served as a pillow.

"Alfred, I think it's alright for you to stop for a while," Arthur spoke up, looking at the clock on the dashboard. "It's almost midnight. I doubt anyone will be up at this hour, especially here, where it's so rural."

"Okay," Alfred nodded, pulling up into a small clearing in the forest, before leaning back, turning to look at Arthur. "So, what was that all about back there, hmm?"

"Oh, it's nothing, really," Arthur stuttered, blushing. "Just a little trick I thought of." He looked away, averting his eyes from Alfred's piercing gaze.

"No, I mean, what was _that_ all about, Arthur?" he suddenly said, and Arthur's eyes widened.

"… You knew."

"All this time, babe." Alfred winked, grinning. "Ever since day 1."

Arthur gaped at him. "… So, you know, I'm not…" he gestured at his dress, and Alfred nodded, snickering.

"At first I didn't really want to believe it," he said, "But then there was this one time when I was talking to Marie about it, and well, she just let it slip." Arthur gaped at him in shock. "Don't tell her I told you," he said quickly, "She thinks you'll hate her if you found out."

"W-well, I can't ever find it in myself to ever hate her," Arthur replied, "But all this time… why didn't you tell me?"

"I wouldn't have been able to kiss you so freely." Alfred said, suddenly serious. He took his hands off the wheel of the car and held Arthur's smaller hands in his. "I gotta say, you make a really pretty woman. Those Nazis weren't lying, you know."

Arthur blushed, and Alfred chuckled. "And that blushing you do, it's adorable."

"S-shut it, git." Arthur stuttered, and the blonde American leaned in, touching their foreheads together.

"Arthur," he gently said, "_Donnez-moi un baiser_." He looked into Arthur's eyes, and Arthur couldn't find the strength in himself to look away. A soft smile crossed Alfred's face. "_Ne me faites pas attendre_."

Arthur laughed softly, breathlessly, and leant in to press their lips together. Almost immediately they melted into each other, their hands finding each other, and soon Alfred's hands wandered up Arthur's arms to tangle in his long hair. With a gentle tug, the wig fell down, revealing to Alfred Arthur's messy sandy blonde hair.

He stroked Arthur's hair gently, relishing in its soft texture as they kissed and kissed again, and before long, their tongues tangled together and they were mentally mapping each other's mouths.

The soft groan of Marie forced them out of their kissing, the both of them pulling apart lighting-fast, panting slightly due to lack of air. Frozen in place, the both of them cautiously watched the little girl sleeping at the back of the car. When Marie turned slightly, mumbling softly, they let out a breath the both of them didn't realise they were holding, and they looked at each other.

A grin broke out on Alfred's face, and Arthur followed suit, softly chuckling.

"Hey, we've kissed loads of times before," Alfred spoke up, "But there was something in there that wasn't there before."

"Oh, what can it be, I wonder?" Arthur chuckled, gently kissing Alfred again, before pulling away. "What was in there that wasn't there before?"

"Oh, I think I know," Alfred chuckled. "It's love, babe."

Laughing softly, Arthur gently butted his head against Alfred's.

"Yes, I suppose so," he replied. "I love you."

"I love you too, Arthur."

* * *

I had loads of fun with this one, oddly. Probably it's because of the Nazi-hunting Erik Lehnsherr does. LOLOLOLO

Uh, pardon my French. It's not exactly my native language. ;m;

Sooo. This one actually came out better than I had expected. I'm actually rather proud of this one. 3

Uh, for translations, go to google, please. 8D;;


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